


Of the Imperium

by SirSigil



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tevinter Imperium, Drama, F/F, Master/Slave, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-25 09:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSigil/pseuds/SirSigil
Summary: In another life, the Herald of Andraste and the Champion of Kirkwall are citizens of the Tevinter Imperium. A land where their differences set them far apart. Yet despite all odds, they find each other still. (Fem Hawke / Fem Adaar). Tevinter AU.





	1. In Need of a Champion

**In Need of a Champion**

The upbeat clatter of hooves and wheels on flagstones gently brushed against Marian’s senses. The noise tempered somewhat by the general hustle and bustle of the common folk, soporati and laetan going about their business. Their faces turned Marian’s way as the carriage passed, more than a few heads dipped in respectful acknowledgement of the Magister, either that or out of fear. Some others would duck out of the way in an attempt to avoid attracting the ire of a powerful Altus, yet Marian had little concern for any of them.

“Must we return to the arena so soon?” The soft voice drew Marian’s attention from the people outside to the lounged figure across from her, gazing out of the other window but not really interested. “You seem to spend so much time there of late that you may as well just live in it.” The chide was accompanied by a yawn. “Perhaps you wish to fight there yourself, dear sister?” The figure turned from the windowed world to give Marian a glinting smirk.

Marian returned the grin in kind. “I certainly would, Bethany, were there any opponents that could give me a challenge.” The other snorted at that and shook her head at her older sister’s foolishness.

“If that were the case then you would not be seeking a bodyguard so desperately. Of course, there would be no need for any of this nonsense if you simply didn’t rile the Magisterium as you do.” Bethany gave Marian a pointed look, torn half between scolding and concern.

Marian sighed and averted her gaze before replying, well used to the circles of argument the two sisters had danced around many a time before.

“You know as well as I do that the Magisterium is full of fools and fanatics.” Marian all but spat as she gazed out of the window again. “The Imperium could be so much more if we looked to the future instead of clinging so desperately to the past.”

She received a murmur of assent from across the carriage. Marian glanced back to her sister to see a head nodding slowly. Then two large brown eyes locked onto hers.

“But why must it be you who tempts the Magisterium’s blades?”

The question caught Marian for a moment, but when she answered, she answered true.

“Because someone must, else we are all lost. Whether it’s the Qunari, the nations of the south or our own arrogance and complacency, we will fall if we do not change our path. Someone must fight for our better future, and if no one else will then I will gladly take up the banner.”

Bethany chuckled at her sister’s impassioned declaration. “I think you fancy yourself a Champion of Tevinter rather than Archon.”

That brought a smile and a ghost of chuckle back to Marian’s lips. “Why not, the position is vacant after all.”

“True enough,” Bethany paused, brow furrowed a little before continuing, “Just … do be careful, sister. Many have suffered walking the same path you do now.”

“Which is why I must find a competent bodyguard isn’t it, sister?” Marian replied with a smirk, returning her gaze to the window and the scenery beyond.

“Hmm.” Was all the reply she received. For a short while the pair sat in silence, the trundle of the carriage their only other companion as the arena drew closer. The warm sun slipped through the curtained windows, greeting Marian gladly as a good sign of the day to come. It wasn’t long before the carriage turned off the main road and made its approach to the arena grounds. While not as grandiose as the Grand Proving Arena in Minrathous, the gladiatorial arena was always a sight to behold.

“You truly think that you can find a capable – and willing – bodyguard here?” Bethany scooted up to the window, showing genuine interest the first time this day.

“That’s what I intend to find out.” Marian smirked in reply.

xxx

A familiar droning murmur of hundreds of people cheering and calling, muffled by stone and sand reached Herah’s ears. The Qunari paid it no mind as she always did, focusing entirely on her preparations. She wrapped a bandage tight around each hand for purchase and tested the buckles on her rudimentary armour. It was always the same, every day, every week, for a very long time.

This was her world, deep in a pit underneath a Tevinter arena. The air was hot and humid with the heat and sweat of fellow combatants, all crowded into such a small space. The stench of blood and sick and ale was so familiar that Herah barely noticed any of it anymore.

It would not be her first choice, or her last for that matter, but choice was a luxury for the few. And Herah was not among them.

“Oy, Ox!” The deep shout of the blade-master drew Herah’s attention, naturally turning her head to the source of the noise only to meet a sharp pain as the thick metal collar cut into her neck. It was a sensation she never seemed to get used to, no matter how long it had been.

“You’re up next, freak. Get ready!” The stout human yelled her way with a lingering glare, before sauntering on, whip in hand to terrorise the other fighters in the pit to order.

Herah said nothing but returned the glare to the man’s back. Her mind worked quick as it always did, searching for any gap, any route out of this pit and into freedom. Like always though, Herah came up short, there was no escape from the Imperium. Especially not for one as distinctive as she, her horns and grey skin marked her as an enemy of these lands. Even if she could somehow escape the arena itself, she’d be stranded in the heart of Tevinter with legions of mages and soldiers between her and true freedom.

So, like always, she got herself up from the bench and strode over towards the tunnel that led out, only into the fray. She passed the other fighters who like her were forced to be here, mostly elves and humans, with some dwarves and no other qunari among them. Most of them ignored her, focussing on their own preparations and conversations, some cast her wary glances while others shied away at her approach. Herah ignored them all. She’d long since adopted the dour, grim faced persona that all races expected of the qunari. She wasn’t interested in making friends or starting a revolution. She simply wanted out and the best way she saw to do that was to do it alone.

She marched straight down to the end of the tunnel, where the blade-master was waiting for her impatiently.

“About time, Ox,” the human spat at Herah as the gate before them slowly opened, surprisingly confident despite being a couple of heads shorter than her.

“Big crowd tonight, so make it a good ‘un. Don’t go down too quick, eh?” He laughed cruelly as he sauntered back down the tunnel.

Herah was idly struck by the temptation to grab the man by the neck and squeeze. It would be so easy, even if he held all the weapons under lock and key. But she’d never make it ten paces before a platoon of imperial soldiers charged in and ran her through.

So like she always did, she stayed silent and ignored the jibe. The wooden gate began to rise, heralded by the steady clanking of chains. Inhaling deeply through her nose and making the effort to ignore the pungent odour of the pit, she stepped forward into the light.

The sharp sunlight assaulted her eyes as the sound of a thousand cheers and jeers alike engulfed her. The wide circle of the arena’s sands was tinged red and brown from the previous battles of the day. A pair of attendants were still dragging off the mangled remains of the last round’s loser.

Rotating her head in an arc as wide as she could, given the constraints of her collar, Herah diverted her attention to the other end of the pit. The gate opposite was still lifting and she narrowed her eyes in frustration as she saw what stood beyond. Three figures stepped forth onto the sand, all human men. It was not the first time she had been made to fight more than one opponent and unless she was careless it wouldn’t be the last. Tevinter’s hatred of qunari extended even to the darkest, seediest corners of the Imperium.

Still, she’d won against worse odds before, and she would do so again.

A wave of cheers rose up as the men raised their weapons in acknowledgement of the blood thirsty crowds. The arena had evidently chosen their champions. Ignoring all else, Herah gripped her blade and strode toward her foes, eager to be done with this, whatever the outcome.

The men whispered to each other and casually strode in themselves, one up the centre, the others to each side of the qunari. Herah didn’t even bother trying to keep them all in front of her sight. She reached the heart of the pit and held her ground, waiting for the humans to make the first move. For a long few moments, they merely circled her like wolves, swinging their blades sharply and shouting out the occasional jibe to get a rise out of the qunari.

Herah merely waited with her blade at the ready. She focussed on her breathing, keeping herself steady.

In and out.

In and out.

In.

Out.

Then, she sensed movement. The quick patter of sand underfoot. Herah swung her head around and brought her blade with her. The human had thought he was successful in sneaking up on her, she could see it in his face as the realisation of his failure dawned. Blood burst from the man’s chest and he staggered to a crumpled heap, a wave of red seeped into the sand. The crowd gasped in surprise then cheered anyway at the shedding of blood.

The other two men exchanged glances with each other, realising their opponent was not to be trifled with. Herah turned her gaze between them, keeping her expression a steady glare.

The men readied themselves then both jumped into the fray. Herah was forced to parry and block constantly, unable to find a gap to strike. She was on the back foot and was soon forced up to the wall of the arena. The excited calls from the spectators above nearly drowned out the shrieking steel that rang in her ears.

Gritting her teeth, Herah knocked the blade of one attacker up and gave him a kick to the chest, sending him reeling. Before she could press the advantage, the other had thrown his weight behind a stinging attack, forcing her to stay pressed against the stone.

She growled in frustration and took a chance. Before the winded enemy could get back up, she dropped her sword and launched herself at the one still standing. Steel bit into her shoulder but she held onto her grapple with a snarl. Human and qunari met the sand with a dull thud and the two wrestled for control of the human’s sword. Man and woman fought for dominance, but the qunari’s greater strength and position won out. Herah finished him off, thrusting the edge of the blade through his neck. A spurt of blood shot into the qunari’s face and the crowd was a mixture of exuberant cheers and infuriated boos.

A sharp pain exploded in her back, barely under her shoulder blade. Instantly Herah’s body recoiled from the invasion of some foul poison. Her breath turned ragged and she began to sweat all over.

“What’s the matter, Ox?” A cruel, reedy voice sneered, “Not feeling too good?”

Herah swung around to face the last man. He clenched a short dagger in his hand, sharpened and clearly coated with some toxin. Such things were not allowed in the arena, though Herah doubted anyone would care if it was used against a qunari.

She tried to lunge for him, but her strength left her and she stumbled into the dirtied sand, panting hard against the pain. Foamy spittle was already leaving her lips in place of words.

The human chuckled at her expense and turned to the crowd, pumping his fists for approval before taking the final kill. The assembled masses were only too happy to oblige.

Chants of “_Kill! Kill! Kill!_” rose up from every corner.

Herah shut her eyes against the whirlwind of pain that coursed through her body, she could barely think. Footsteps forced her to open her eyes, the human had returned his attention to her. His eyes were nothing but pure hatred. He knelt down before Herah and reached over to pull her up roughly by one of the horns. The crowd laughed as she was brought up to her knees. Her vision faded in and out as the poison did its work. She saw the human pull his arm back, ready to finish it.

Something primal surged inside of her and she lunged forward with a roar, head butting the man. Stunned and surprised he staggered back to tumble over, the dagger falling to the sand. Herah dived for it and managed to paw it from the ground. Before he could react she raised the blade and with all the strength she could muster, she plunged.

Herah heard gasps somewhere faraway in the distance. She saw a churning mix of blood, skin and sand. Then she passed out.

xxx

“She’s the one, I’m sure of it Bethany.” Marian stated with absolute certainty as they strode through the dark underbelly of the arena with purpose. The two sisters were accompanied by the arena’s manager, who had protested for all of five seconds before Marian had threatened to bring the arena under the Magisterium’s control, stripping him of his livelihood.

That she had no such authority was beside the point.

Bethany merely sighed as she followed.

“If she is even still alive after that … _performance_.” She pointedly remarked as the younger Hawke wrinkled her nose in objection to the odour. “And even if she is, what makes you so sure she’d even agree to it? You saw how she was treated back there. I’d say she’d be foolish not to be distrustful of all humans.”

Before Marian could reply, the arena manager, a fat greedy man piped in.

“That’s right! The Ox is very mistrustful, very dangerous. Not fit to be let out in civilised society at all.”

He was obviously all too eager to keep his star gladiator.

Marian merely ignored him, turning instead to her sister. “Then I will use all of my grace and charm to convince her of my good intentions.” She smirked with a twinkle in her eye, earning her an eye roll from her younger sister.

The manager sighed in dismay but led them along regardless.

They soon came to a locked door, which the manager unlocked after finding the right key and led them inside. The room was more of a prison cell, a stone square barely large enough to hold the threadbare cot that barely supported the tall, well-built woman laid there.

Sensing them enter, the qunari opened her eyes and moved to stand, a laborious process as she strained against her injuries. The bandages that wrapped around the woman’s torso and shoulder were already tinged a bright crimson.

Marian looked the qunari up and down for a few moments, though clearly battered, wounded and sick, the horned woman was an imposing figure of strength. Toned arms and stomach stood proud underneath grey skin that was tinged slightly green with the effects of the poison. That and the heavy metal collar that shackled the qunari around the neck made something uncomfortable ache inside of the human.

Marian turned to the manger and held out her hand expectantly.

“The keys.” She commanded simply and watched as the manager slowly surrendered them with frustration on his face.

“It would be better off here.” He assured her in vain. “That or in some-”

“The Imperium thanks you for your service.” Marian cut off the insipid man and swiped the keys from his hands. “Leave us.” The look in her eyes left no room for questioning. Finally he took the hint and retreated from the room quickly.

Bethany chuckled as he fled.

Marian sighed and turned back to the qunari woman who was watching the two powerful Altus with open suspicion. Marian unwillingly thought of a wounded wild animal, proud, beautiful and still very dangerous, backed into a corner and mistrustful of everything.

“It would appear you may be right sister.” Marian muttered softly, not taking her eyes from the grey skinned woman.

Bethany gave no reply.

Slowly, Marian raised a hand and stepped softly towards the qunari, willing some magic forth.

“Remain calm. It’s alright, I can heal you.” She spoke gently, though the qunari reacted as if she’d been struck across the face. The horned woman backed up against the wall and raised her hands to protect herself, or prepare for a fight.

“Easy sister …” Bethany warned from behind but Marian payed her no mind.

“My name is Marian Hawke,” She spoke slowly, both to keep the situation calm and because she was uncertain the taller woman could even understand Tevene. “I want to help you.” She promised, the qunari fixed her with two large, intense, silver eyes.

The horned woman swallowed several times before opening her own mouth in return.

“I am Herah.” A deep accented voice came forth, that sounded strained from the innate illness deep within her.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Marian smirked in reply, pleased with the sudden progress.

She chanced a slow advance towards the qunari and was pleased when Herah did not make any more moves to fight or flee.

“May I?” Marian questioned with raised eyebrows, indicating the bound wounds.

Though clearly uncomfortable with the idea, the qunari gradually nodded silently in response and held still, letting her arms fall to her sides.

Marian closed the gap between them and brought her hand over still wet bandages, she could feel the tenseness in the other woman with only the lightest touch. With merely a simple thought, she willed arcane energies to coalesce around her hand and poured them into the qunari. Herah grunted softly and almost fully recoiled as she felt the touch of magic enter her skin, but Marian hushed her softly and held a grey arm firm. Herah relaxed a little and breathed deeply as the spell took effect.

Satisfied with the front, Marian moved around the horned woman, whose eyes followed her like a hawk until the human was fully behind her. That she made no effort to turn around to keep the human under watch told Marian volumes about the levels of trust she had already established with merely a few short minutes. She levelled an “_I told you so_” look over at Bethany who pointedly ignored her, arms crossed and leaning against the wall with a bored expression.

Returning her attention to the qunari’s back, Marian almost gasped at how violent the wound truly was. Though bandaged well and seemingly no longer bleeding, a wave of sickly green skin had rippled from the centre point to cover most of the tall back. The skin looked decayed and dead already. Taking a breath to steady herself, Marian placed one hand up on the qunari’s shoulder, Herah half turned her head and nodded silently again at the magister.

Marian dug deep into her core and pulled forth the heavy reserves of her mana. A bright pale blue light emanated from her hand as she worked across the qunari’s back, pushing the poison back out to the entry wound. It took only a few minutes, but in that time Herah’s skin cleared up immensely, turning to a dark silvery hue. Her posture straightened as the weight of the poison was lifted from her and her breathing strengthened from a ragged rasp to a calm, steady rate.

When she was done, Marian found herself spent, so grave was the wound that it demanded much of her energy. She returned to the front of the qunari to admire her work. Herah too looked down at her body and arms to assess her now healed wounds.

She raised her horned head and gazed deep into Marian’s eyes for a long moment.

“Thank you.” That accented voice again, giving genuine thanks, though still suspicious as to the human’s intentions.

“You’re very welcome.” Marian smirked in reply. “Now, I have a proposition for you.”

Herah made no reply other than to continue staring at the magister with curiosity.

“I find myself in need of a bodyguard, and you have the good fortune to be the only candidate. I won’t lie to you, I have made some rather powerful enemies of late.”

“_Some_.” Bethany huffed disapprovingly from behind, Marian payed her no mind.

“Which is why I have need of someone to watch over me.” She paused for a moment to gauge any kind of reaction in the qunari, none was forthcoming. “I know what you’re probably thinking, why would an all-powerful magister such as myself need a bodyguard when I could turn any assassin or spy into a bloody smear with a wave of my hand? The answer is that I’m cautious-”

A short chuckle of disbelieving amusement from Bethany.

“-I’m cautious and I’d rather have two sets of eyes watching out for my interests rather than one.”

Herah merely stood there still as Marian finished her pitch, her gaze had not left the older Hawke the entire time. Maker only knew just what the qunari was thinking.

“I will not force you to come,” Marian pressed on, “And I certainly cannot guarantee your safety if you do.” She chuckled. “It will be your duty to guarantee mine after all. But I can offer you a room grander than anything you would ever see in this arena, food that you will thank the Maker to taste, and above all the pleasure of my company.” She finished with a smirk.

Herah seemed to chew the idea over in her mind for a few moments, seemingly taken aback by this sudden opportunity. The qunari’s eyes regarded Marian for a long few moments in appraisal. Her gaze then left Marian and looked about the confines of her cell. Surely anything had to be better than this?

Then she raised her head and nodded.

“I accept.” She said, simply.

“I knew you’d see sense, Herah.” Marian’s smirk grew wider and she offered her hand.

The qunari’s eyes widened, astounded, whether by the use of her name or the offer of a handshake Marian couldn’t say. It was simply not done in Tevinter to treat slaves with anything more benign than mild irritation. Haltingly, Herah extended her own hand and clasped the Magister’s, shaking it firmly. _A warrior’s grip, strong and true_. Marian thought, even more certain of her decision.

“Before we leave,” Marian began, moving back into the qunari’s space, she reached up with the keys taken from the arena manager and inserted one into the heavy metal collar that clung to the horned woman’s neck. A heavy clicking heralded the release of the shackle and Marian tossed the offending article onto the bed with a dull thud.

“There, much better.” The magister smiled.

Herah reached up to rub at the sore skin around her neck.

Bethany stepped forth with a bundle of clothing conjured seemingly from nowhere. “Here,” she offered them to the qunari, “Can’t have you representing House Hawke in rags now can we?”

Herah took the clothes gingerly, likely the finest and most expensive clothing she’d ever held.

“These will suffice until we get you fitted with your armour of course.” Marian offered.

Herah nodded with the closest thing to a smile Marian had seen all day. The qunari removed her rags, the bandages protected her modesty, and she gingerly dressed in the gifted attire. It was merely a simple doublet and breeches, but very finely made, with the crest of House Hawke adorning the shirt proudly.

Marian half turned to the door and held out a hand to the qunari, smirk back in force.

Herah took a breath to ready herself, then reached out to take the hand and her new life.


	2. Bound Without Chains

**Bound Without Chains**

A great peel of steel on steel shattered the quiet. A grunt of effort and surprise as the assassin jumped back from his unexpected foe, a grey mountain of unrivalled force and strength.

A whirl of silver slashed through the air with a whistle. The great blade cut across the assassin’s chest, spreading crimson through the air and splattered across the marble floor in a violent streak.

A dull thud as his body fell to the ground and moved no more, a sea of red spreading around his still warm corpse. Silence filled the fine hall.

Then clapping.

“It seems I have made a good choice after all. You continue to perform your duties very well indeed, my champion.” Marian smirked proudly, deftly stepping around the fallen assassin and his spilled blood to her bodyguard, her champion.

Herah stood there, powerful body still poised ready for any other threat, scowling down at the slumped corpse with abject fury. When no other foe appeared, she sheathed her sword and moved her gaze up to the Magister. Her face softened from rage and for a moment, Marian could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile.

“As you say, master.” The qunari practically purred in that foreign accent of hers, bowing her head respectfully. “I always strive to please you.”

“Oh enough of that, at least for now.” Marian admonished the taller woman with a wave of her hand and a shake of her head, another smirk rising. She reached out expectantly. The qunari took her cue and reached forward to take the Magister’s outplaced hand, escorting her from the hall.

“As you say … master.” The horned woman said again as she smirked, ignoring the human’s narrowed eyes. “I should really warn you to be more careful. You do bring these attacks on yourself you know.”

Marian turned a disbelieving eye towards the qunari. “Are you really concerned for my wellbeing now?” A spark of arcane energy danced across the Magister’s eyes for a moment. “Here I thought you just loved the thrill of a fight.”

“I do not wish to fail on principle.” Herah murmured, completely professional. “It is merely that your antics with the Magisterium will only prompt more of their ilk.” She jerked her head softly to the slain assassin behind them.

“If more come, then you will deal with them just as swiftly, my champion.” The Magister stated firmly, resolutely. “Or if you are otherwise occupied, I am still capable of looking after myself you know. It is of no concern.”

“It is when your life is at stake, my lady.” Herah furrowed her brow. “I cannot always guarantee your safety, especially if the whole Magisterium wishes you dead. If I were to fail you …” The qunari trailed off, she shook her head vigorously at the prospect.

“Ah, so you claim it is pride that makes you fight so?” Marian chuckled, at her bodyguard’s scowl.

“You know that is not true.” Herah murmured.

“Naturally.” Marian smirked in reply. “I don’t suppose the fact that there isn’t another Magister in all of Tevinter, willing to even consider a qunari bodyguard has anything to do with it? That instead they would throw one such as yourself into the deepest mines, never to see the sun?”

When Herah ignored the question, Marian continued with a smile.

“You of all people should not doubt me so, my champion.”

“I do not doubt your intent, my lady,” The qunari murmured irritably, “Only that you could achieve any real change in these lands.”

“Stranger things have happened, a qunari willingly serving a Magister for one.” Marian levelled a coy smile at Herah. “Who knows what the future might hold.”

They passed into a long hallway, a pair of elven and human servants both waiting dutifully by the door. In truth, they were slaves and not servants, just as Herah was, Tevinter society allowed little distinction between the two terms. In the Hawke household however, they were regarded as valued staff and were afforded that respect, and in turn they responded well. It was but one of many ideas that the Hawke family seemed to clash with most of the Tevinter aristocracy on.

The pair bowed deep to the Magister but Marian bade them to rise. Though she could certainly take satisfaction from being treated in such a manner, Marian was not one to milk such attention. Not too often at any rate. She instructed the servants to clean the hall dirtied with assassin’s blood and they went quickly, leaving human and qunari alone once more.

“Do you truly believe that I should give up then?” Marian posed the question to her champion with a raised eyebrow. “As I recall you were once most in favour of our little cause. Is that not why you remain here now? Why you dirty your blade for my sake?”

Herah didn’t answer right away, considering her words carefully.

“I think you should reconsider whether it is a battle worth fighting. More than that, whether it is a battle you seriously think you can win.”

The Magister chuckled mirthfully. “That is rather forward, coming from a slave. I should strike you for just for that insolence.” She stopped walking and turned to face Herah fully, gaze focused and serious. “Is that how you wish it to be? You wish to be my property, an object without opinion or feeling and nothing more?”

“Is that not what I am now?” Herah’s face changed, her gaze darkened, but the look in her silver eyes was distant, almost melancholic, not hostile.

“No, not to me.” Marian’s eyes softened and she almost smiled a little sadly. “You are so much more than that.”

xxx

Herah escorted the Magister Marian Hawke, her master, into the more private quarters of the estate. Though the qunari knew that Marian trusted all of her servants with her life unequivocally – Herah was not the only guardian the Magister could count on after all – she knew that the human prized her solitude often, only allowing a few particular individuals into her solar. Herah was amongst those select few. It was an honour the qunari had earned somehow over the preceding few years, though she could not begin to guess how it had happened.

They entered a grand bathing room. A large, stone bath sunk into the mosaic floor, steps carved into the side of the pool. Through the soapy foam and the soft ripples of the warm water, the crest of House Hawke glimmered from the base of the bath, a mosaic of rubies and other fine gemstones. At each corner of the bath were little magical lights, illuminating the water’s surface with their warm, fiery glow.

Directly above the bath, a delicate, freshly painted mural of the Prophetess Andraste and her elven champion Shartan hugged the ceiling. Scandalously, the pair’s gazes were locked with one another, each equal in the soft reverence they held the other. Herah wondered if the choice in imagery was a coy caricature of her own position: The outcast warrior champion and an ideological crusader, set out for changing the world together, even to the bitter end.

The whole room was extravagant certainly, but from what Herah had come across in her time as Marian’s champion and bodyguard, this was by no means an extreme example of the great depths of Tevinter decadence. There were some who would even consider this fine bathing room to be little more than a shabby water closet. For Herah, the entire estate far exceeded anything that she had ever before had the fortune to call home.

Marian let go of the qunari’s hand and padded over to a table in front of a large wall mirror on the other side of the bath. The warrior stood vigil by the door dutifully, casting her ever wary gaze over the room once more. She did not expect to find any threat here of all places, but she had not survived the Imperium this long by being careless.

Turning back to her master, Herah could see the human’s face in the glassy reflection as she took a damp cloth and cleaned away whatever dirt lingered there. Herah doubted there would be any, the Magister had a fascination with cleanliness that seemed to border on obsession at times. Perhaps it came with being a Magister, or simply from being a Tevinter.

“You like the décor?” Said Magister questioned with a knowing glance at the qunari’s reflection. “I designed it myself. I’ve always held a certain fondness for Andraste’s story, despite the Chantry’s best attempts to diminish it to some meaningless parable or other.”

“That does not surprise me, my lady.” Herah quipped dryly, gazing up at the painting once more. “Most daring. If any were to see this, they would-”

“Please,” Marian cut her off with a harsh laugh, “The only people who will ever see this would never betray me.” She stated certainly, though the Magister turned to face her bodyguard with a raised brow and a spark in her eye. “Or am I wrong?”

“Never, my lady.” Herah swore.

“Thank you, my Shartan.” Marian smirked in reply. “Or perhaps you are my Justinia? There was never a more loyal friend to Andraste than she. Preferably not Hessarian or Havard at any rate, I’d rather you not carry my ashes- Ugh, I am loathe to compare myself to our Lady, it is only inviting disaster surely.”

“Most likely.” Herah agreed with a faint shake of her head and a smile. “Be that as it may …” She stalked around the bath slowly as she watched the human struggle to tame her hair in vain. Herah’s gaze leisurely drifted down Marian’s back. “I do wish you wouldn’t take such risks.”

“You should know me better by now, I enjoy risks.” Her heated gaze locked with the qunari’s in the silvered reflection. “You were a risk.”

Herah said nothing in reply, continuing to pace around the bath whilst fixing the Magister with a heady stare. When she reached the human, she gently wrapped her gauntleted arms around Marian’s slim form, earning her a soft gasp as the cool metal of her armour met pale skin.

“Perhaps you still are.” Marian breathed with a robust smirk as she reached up behind to tangle a hand into the qunari’s white hair. Herah merely murmured in reply as she nuzzled the human’s neck, relishing the feel of their embrace.

After a few long moments that were entirely too short, the Magister pushed away from her champion and with a smirk, sauntered over towards the bath, every movement the confident step of a Magister born to wield power. At the pool’s edge and under the qunari’s heated gaze, Marian reached up to undo the fastenings of her robes, letting the fine fabric fall to the floor. Bare, she levelled a challenging grin at Herah as she let the horned woman drink in the sight. Then, before Herah could so much as formulate a suitable comment, Marian descended into the warm waters and engulfed her body with the soapy foam.

The human glided through the water to rest at the opposite end, never taking her gaze away from her champion. She leaned back against the carved stone and artfully raised a finger, beckoning with a wicked smirk. Such a display was unbecoming beneath a depiction of the Prophetess.

Herah made short work of her buckles and clasps.

xxx

Marian traced her hand ever so lightly over the scarred, grey skin of her champion’s sleeping form, careful not to wake the qunari. The gentle yet strong rise and fall of Herah’s bare chest was somehow soothing. The Magister’s finger lazily followed the contours of the many scars that ran here, there and all over the qunari’s body. Most were merely streaks of lighter grey against the qunari’s natural dark tone. Others were bolder, ridges that stood proud above muscle and bone as testament to a lifetime of combat and mistakes well learned. Marian was entranced by them and she was struck with the urge to know the story of each and every one of them.

Yet she was also ashamed by them. How many of these scars had been won in her name, due to her demands? She couldn’t even begin to guess. And what of those that lingered beneath the surface? Herah was a strong, unbending soul, but the life of a Magister’s bodyguard couldn’t possibly be more taxing. Particularly when that Magister was hell-bent on subverting thousands of years of practice and tradition, in a land that could be as hostile to change as the surface of the sun was to snow.

Her plans were not going well, in all the years of blood, sweat and toil she had given to her cause, change had not yet yielded in the Imperium. The host of assassins that had been hurled her way were merely proof of her existence as a thorn in the sides of those that she sought to undermine, and precious little more. With each passing month, the threat to not only herself but to those that she held dear grew. It was only a matter of time until something happened that she could only mourn and regret.

Marian slammed her eyes shut and moved away from her bodyguard as she fought off her moment of weakness. She was a Magister of Tevinter, not some drooling peasant girl. She would take action when it was needed, not weep uncontrollably. Though she hated the very thought, she knew what she must do.

She stood softly from the bed and drew the discarded bedsheets from the floor. Wrapping herself in the fine linens, she strode over to the balcony and gazed out over her estate, the early morning sun slowly illuminating all of the land. Acres of field and woodland stretched out before her, all private, all hers. There wasn’t another soul for miles save for the handful of trusted servants in the manor, and Herah of course. There was something oddly seductive about that thought. That they might stay here in peaceful isolation for all of time, just the two of them. Yet she knew that that was never going to be.

That was something she hated about dreams, they always seemed so unattainable, always out of reach no matter how hard you fought or how far you chased them. Dreams were the foolish whims of children, not becoming of a Magister of the Imperium.

Soft rustling drew her attention back to the bed as Herah slowly wakened. The qunari gradually opened her eyes and her lips turned into a welcoming smile when she caught sight of Marian. Silver eyes held the Magister with nothing but loving affection.

The Magister averted her gaze almost bashfully. She cursed herself for a fool yet again. The sooner she did this the better, before it would become impossible. She approached the bed, gripping the sheets around her even tighter.

“Champion,” Marian began slowly, opting to keep things formal, it would be for the best, “I … have come to a decision.”

The qunari was clearly nonplussed but propped herself up on one arm and waited patiently for her master to continue, completely unconcerned about her state of undress. Perhaps she even revelled in it.

Marian sighed before putting the hardest steel she could muster into her eyes and voice.

“I’d like you to leave. In fact, I command it. I want you gone from my property by the end of the hour.”

Herah didn’t say a word for a few moments, opting merely to regard the human with a curious look. Her beautifully cut face slowly illuminated in the morning sunlight as the rays crept into the room. Marian matched her former champion’s gaze evenly. This was a contest of wills, and not one that she could afford to lose, not now.

“No.” The warrior eventually said with a flickering smile. “No, I think not.”

“I wasn’t giving you a choice.” Marian warned, forcing herself to scowl rather than scream.

The qunari merely smiled as she stood from the bed and, with her powerful form still completely bare, she padded over to a nearby table, pouring herself a goblet of wine.

“There is still far too much work to be done here. No, I couldn’t possibly leave now, not when I’m needed.” She turned to face the Magister, sipping her wine with a hint of a smirk and a spark of rebellion in her eye. “Not when you need me so earnestly.”

Marian was becoming incensed now. “You think this is some sort of game?”

When she got no reply she paced right up to the taller woman.

“This is just as much for your sake as it is for mine. You were saying just the day before how you wished I would end my fight. You know just as well as I do how many people want us both dead: you just for your birth and appearance, and me for harbouring you as a bodyguard and- and more.”

Herah still said nothing. She merely smiled slyly and leant back against the table, giving the Magister a clear view of her form. That face, that face that Marian knew so well was turned into the most insufferable of smirks.

Marian scoffed, turned and paced back over to the balcony, shaking her head with muttered annoyances. Why must the qunari be so stubborn, especially about this? She was normally rational to a fault. Could she not see how this path could only end for the better for both of them? It was only the sensible course of action that Marian was proposing. It would hurt yes, indeed it already was, but what greater pain might be avoided in the future? Already she was plotting to attack from another angle. Hate it as she did, this was not a battle she could bear to lose.

Marian jumped slightly as two warm, powerful arms wrapped themselves around her, holding her reverently yet firmly.

“When you first told me, how you were going to change things in these lands,” A warm breath in her ear began, “I didn’t believe you for a second. But then I saw what you’d done with your own land and how you’ve helped your own people. I’ve seen how you care, felt it in my own heart. I’ve had my misgivings, yes, but I believe in you.” Marian grasped the arms around her with her own and felt a soft kiss being pressed to her neck as a heavy lump formed there. “You don’t have to be afraid, you’re not in this struggle alone.”

Marian swallowed thickly, all of her carefully laid plans falling apart around her like a house of cards.

“And you don’t have to suffer with me. I can secure you passage out of Tevinter. You could leave, find a new life, free of- of me, of all this!” She whispered pleadingly. “I’m granting you your freedom, that’s what you’ve always wanted! Why won’t you seize it?”

Those grey arms moved up to her face and pulled her round to gaze into Herah’s eyes. Never before had they been so loving.

“The one thing I wish never to be free of, is you.” She pledged and gently leant her head against Marian’s. “You gave me purpose, and reason to live. Let me help you with yours.”

“You’ve done so much already, you’ve given _me_ so much …” Marian’s defences were crumbling, Herah was gently pulling her back towards the bed and there was nothing the powerful Magister could do to stop her. She shook her head in a vain attempt to shun the tears. “How could I ask you for more?”

“You needn’t ask for a thing, I give it all gladly.” The qunari smiled and pulled Marian into a kiss.

“You’re a fool.” Marian half laughed, half sobbed when they parted, not daring to open her eyes in case this all some bittersweet dream. She never wanted to wake up from this moment. “This will end up destroying us.”

A soft, warm laugh reached her ears. “Maybe, but I say let the world try. I am not done fighting, and neither are you.”

Marian hated that. She hated that she knew Herah was right. And she hated it almost as much as she loved it.

At last the Magister relented. She let the bed sheets around her fall to the floor and accepted the loving embrace of her champion, who was bound to her with a bond far stronger than any chain that had ever bound a slave to their master.


End file.
